A Hogwarts Carol
by Wonk
Summary: [COMPLETE} A Christmas Carol. When Snape is greeted on Christmas Eve by the ghost of dead Voldemort, will he learn to change his ways? Or is he destined to be a weary ghost wandering Hogwarts forever?
1. Voldy's Ghost

I was a fool to watch the Ring right before I was going home to bed, so I decided to distract my mind a bit. An idea struck me, though I knew it had been done before, I thought I'd write yet another HP/A Christmas Carol crossover. Though not a original idea, I assure you that you'll like my version very much. I hope... : )

Enjoy The Hogwarts Carol by Wonk! Just in time for the holidays...I'll try to finish it before Christmas rolls around.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters (they belong to the genius J.K. Rowling), nor did I write Charles Dicken's "A Christmas Carol". Though I would gladly want to own both of them any day. They are/were both geniuses!

Spoiler: I'm not sure. All four books, probably.

Rating: PG for mild language

A/N: I hope you enjoy my cast of characters :). I made sure that each character was fit perfectly for the part. And Severus Snape is the perfect Scrooge, is he not?

Oh, and please notify me if I made a mistake and a certain part was not true to either story.

*cheery Christmas music starts to play*  
  
  
  
  


A Hogwarts Carol

Chapter One

Voldy's Ghost  
  
  
Voldy was dead, to begin with. I had no doubt of that. I had seen the body, the horror of a man (if he could be called man) who had died too many times. I had signed the witnessing of the body's remains myself. I was there.

It was the Harry Potter boy who killed him, though I can't say I blame him. If I cared enough about my parents, I must say that I would be quite vengeful about their deaths, myself. But mine weren't killed, they just loathed me, and I failed to have any feelings for them in return.

And Voldy was as dead as a doornail.

Where did the expression originate anyway? Egad, I must be picking up horrid phrases from my Potions classes. Probably those awful seventh years, they must really learn to speak like normal human beings…though I wouldn't consider the worthless slime as anything close to humans. I know my Slytherins would never say such things. 

Can doornails even die?

Voldy (as he was known to me, Voldemort by those who didn't fear him, and the Dark Lord or You-Know-Who to those who quaked in their boots at his very mention) and I used to be partners. I don't know how many years we were of one goal, they all seem a blur to my mind. The day of the Deatheater's memorial for him was not of my interest. I did attend, but only out of my oath and because the tattoo on my arm was burning quite badly. It has started to fade, I can't help noticing, and the ink seems to bleed when I take baths. Perhaps the tattoo is only temporary? But I should not bother with such idiotic questions, and as I said before it seems my most moronic students are having a pull on my superior mind. 

Some of the Other's tattoos are completely gone, and they have told me if I use rubbing alcohol (I have never heard of such a liquor, if that's what it is. Some inferior Muggle concoction, I'm guessing) it will come right off. But I have some sort of attachment to it; I would never be able to take off a symbol that has made me what I am today:

A Potions teacher and Head of Slytherin House at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

It is at times of remembrance like this where I regret my choice of ever leaving the Dark Lord's circle.

~

I could tell it was Christmas Eve this certain night. Though I avoided the Great Hall, the scent of Christmas ham and a few off-key notes of Dumbledore's favorite Christmas carols (at a particularly joyful tone this certain fear-free holiday) never failed to reach my ears. I was carefully pulling the leg hairs off of a Draugknot when a particularly terrible note blasted through my door.

"Weasley!" I shouted, setting down the ruined Draugknot and tweezers and slamming my fist on the desk. 

"Y-yes, Mr. Snape?" Arthur Weasley, who I had come to know as a poor excuse of a man, and even more so after he was fired from the Ministry for tampering with some Muggle something or other, walked toward me, his hands folded in front of him, his teeth chattering, the tinge of his cheeks matching his bright red hair.

"Shut that blasted door!"

"Y-yes, Mr. Snape." Weasley left my desk, slammed the door shut, and walked back to his corner of my beautiful dungeon room, continuing to clean the cauldrons and potion bottles that littered the countertop. 

No sooner had the door closed than it suddenly-much to my disdain--burst open again and a blast of icy cold air poured into my classroom. I grumbled as a familiar body, thin and wiry, followed by a black-haired and green-eyed head, tumbled into my classroom. The body was soon pursued by a pretty young girl with bushy brown hair, and a miniature version of my idiot assistant. 

"Happy Christmas, Mr. Snape!" The black haired boy, the Boy who Lived (much to my dissatisfaction), the very Harry Potter himself, said cheerfully as he and the other two exploded into my dungeon and clambered up to my desk. All three of them (now seventh years, I had seemed to be stuck with them so much longer) held empty mugs in their hands and the hefty scent of Butterbeer reached my elongated nostrils. From the cheerful looks on all three of their faces, I had no doubt that the Weasley Twins, two sons of my assistant and brother to the red haired boy of the three, had somehow gotten into the school and spiked the Butterbeer with even stronger alcohol in the school kitchen. Those damn elves were just too friendly. The Butterbeer was apparently so strong that it gave these three troublemakers the nerve to come down to my dungeon on a chilly eve of the holiday I hated most.

"Happy indeed, Potter," I said with my usual sneer. "I hope you are doing well on preparing your potion for the next class after the holidays."

"Of course," the boy said, a slight twinge of pink reaching his cheeks. 

"What do you have to be happy about? You do not have the skills to make a potion as simple as a drowsy draught. You will surely fail your exams and never make it in the wizarding world."

"I'll make it good enough," Harry said, his grin only widening. He was being unbearably cheerful. If the older Weasley wasn't there, and if the boy hadn't defeated one of the most powerful wizards in history, I would have pulled a _Petrificus Totalus_ right then and there. 

I had nothing left to say. "Bah, Humbat."

"All right, sir?" the redhead asked, scratching his fiery hair with the same grin that his friend sported plastered across his freckled face.

"What else can I be?" I said with obvious sarcasm. "'Happy Christmas', indeed! Any one who tries to enter my office again with those horrid two words on their lips deserve the Dementor's Kiss! Out of my classroom, now!" 

Granger was being unusually quiet, not asking about her marks or how she did on the last test as she usually did on unscheduled trips to my classroom. Then I realized that her hand was in Weasley's and her face was a bright shade of pink. I sneered, that's the last thing I needed, the three were already messed up enough without hormones making their minds even worse.

"That's rather harsh," Weasley said. 

"You celebrate Christmas your way, I'll celebrate it in mine. Now out of my dungeon!" I got up from my desk and stumbled toward them, my damn gangly limbs getting before myself. They just walked calmly out the door and said in unison "But do please join us for Christmas dinner tomorrow! Happy…!" before I slammed the door shut to their backs.

Then another sound reached my ears. It was a chuckle. The idiot assistant of mine, the father of the lusty Ron Weasley, was laughing quietly in his corner of the room, poking his wand through a towel to clean out the test tube in his hand. I had told him that he had to clean them the Muggle way as punishment for his lack of intelligence. Obviously, he hadn't listened.

"Oh, shut up, Weasley."

The balding man's chuckles stopped immediately, but were soon replaced by loud, boisterous talking as _again_ my door burst open and in walked a portly fellow with blond hair covered by a bowler hat, followed by a smaller man with watery eyes and buck teeth. They were Ludo Bagman and Peter Pettigrew (who I believe was on probation), or as I liked to call them, Has-Been and Rat-Face (opposed to the former Wormtail, or as the Weasley's had once called him-Scabbers). 

They both approached my desk, Ludo taking his hat off with a graceful sweep and clutching it in front of him with both hands. His boyish face broke out in a smile and Rat-Fa…I mean Pettigrew...hovered quietly behind his bulky figure.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Snape," Bagman said _much_ too cheerfully. "Peter and I are here to collect potion ingredients for the poor. Since you have a good supply and all, and I knew Dumbledore wouldn't mind, I was wondering if you would be so kind as to…"

I snorted. "Kind? What meaning is this 'kind'?" I took another Draugknot from the jar and continued my job that had been interrupted and ruined just minutes before.

"Well, you have so much. And poor families have so little…"

"Well, I didn't do that to them, now, did I? I really don't see how this concerns me." I started pulling the hairs off harder, almost ripping one of the legs clear off the ugly little creature in my hand. "If they are so poor they can go live among Muggles, for all I care."

"But sir, these families are in desperate need…"

"Of Saint Mungo's mental care staff. I will have none of this. Leave me."

"But sir…" It was Peter who spoke this time. Not like it mattered.

"Go."

Both men frowned and walked toward the door. With his back turned to me, I heard Has-Been say "Merry Christmas, Mr. Snape."

"What a Scrooge," Peter whispered as they left and shut the door behind them.

I snorted and returned to my work, placing each single hair in a tiny diamond flask made particularly for this type of work. 

The night passed by without (thank goodness) another unwelcome interruption. The only time I stopped my work was when one of the kitchen elves--wrapped in a tea towel embossed with the Hogwarts coat of arms--brought my dinner down to me: cold ham with peas, spiced potatoes, a raspberry tart, and a warm mug of Butterbeer. I thanked her coldly and looked at my watch. It was getting late. The Christmas carols had stopped soon before and the footsteps of the remaining Slytherins echoed past my classroom as they walked to their dungeon commons. It was time to retire.

"Time to go, Weasley," I said, stretching and then closing the flask and the jar which I had been using. 

Weasley sighed in relief and started wiping off the countertop where he had been working. All of my cauldrons, test tubes, flasks, and other such items were arranged perfectly, I hate to admit.

"You'll want tomorrow off, I suppose?" I asked him.

"If that's okay, sir," he answered, throwing the towel into the trash.

"Well, it's not okay," I said with a confident sneer. "And it's not fair. Why should I pay you for something that you do not do?"

Weasley frowned. "It is only once a year, sir. I don't remember getting any other holiday off."

"Well…" I didn't know what to say. The balding, red-haired idiot was right. "Not a good excuse at all. Thievery. But I suppose you might as well stay home, just be here early the next morning."

"I will, sir."

I made sure the man had left and made my way to my room, which was not very far from the Slytherin House. I could still hear a slight din through the thick walls as I reached the door, but I decided I didn't have the energy to scold them. And, if I knew my students well enough, they were probably just as disappointed with the holiday as I was. 

I faced the painting that served as the passage to my room. It was a gargoyle, terrible and beautiful, which moved about ever so slightly in it's unhindered environment. It never left its home; it wasn't quite friendly and didn't make acquaintances easily. I saw this as an advantage; I would never be locked out of my dormitory just because my painting had decided to take a stroll through the castle.

"_Serpens Cutis_," I muttered. Suddenly my painting changed. It was no longer the gargoyle which I had come to know and love, but a man. Not even a man but something horrible and so familiar. It was a withered body cloaked in black robes, the hood pulled up but not far enough to disguise that hideous face that sat in its shadows. The face was flat and a fiery shade of pinkish-gold, no nose but instead two flat, snake-like slits adorned the center and were flanked by flaming red eyes. I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Then I blinked, and it was gone. My gargoyle was back, stretching brutishly in its frame.

"_Serpens Cutis_," I muttered again. This time the painting swung forward and let me into my room. I sighed as a shiver ran down my spine. The ham had probably given me indigestion; it was making me see things.

"_Lumos_," I whispered as my wand lit. My chambers were dark and I didn't want to bother lighting anything besides my wand if I was just going to go to sleep. It was worth too much effort and time. 

No matter how much I tried to ignore it, the hairs on the back of my neck had risen into a most uncomfortable position. An uneasy feeling had settled into the pit of my stomach, but nonetheless I walked past the couch in my sitting room, crept silently up the short flight of stairs, and stepped into my bedroom.

An unmistakable creak of floorboards from across the room greeted me there.

"Peeves!" I whispered angrily. "Get out of here!"

Unfortunately, and as I had expected, Peeves was nowhere to be seen.

I shook my head. Paranoia.

I settled into my chair and started looking through my favorite book, holding my wand over with one hand. I always needed to read if I was going to fall asleep. One Thousand Wizard's Herbs and Uses was the perfect one for the job.

But something distracted me from the pages that I had been so fixated on. They were images swarming in my mind, the face of Voldy, the one I had seen in the painting. What had the elf done to my food? Surely she wouldn't have poisoned it? No, I would have known if it was poisoned. I was the Potions master, after all.

I set the book down on the end table and the images disappeared. Cautiously, I glanced around either side of the chair, sighed, and rested my head into the cushions. It was time to sleep. I couldn't hold back any longer.

"Humbat," I muttered, staring up at the ceiling, sleep failing to immediately greet me. There was a bell on my ceiling, why I didn't know (what use did Wizards have for bells?), hanging from a rope so the base would hover about one foot over my head if I were standing. 

It was swaying. And there was no breeze. 

"Peeves, come on!" I said angrily, my knees starting to shake. I really had no need to be scared, there were plenty of ghosts in this castle, and they couldn't hurt me. But why was I so afraid?

It started to sway so violently that it rang, clear and deafening and much louder than it should have rung. The sound echoed through my presumably empty bedroom and I sunk back into my chair, trying and failing to draw my neck into my robes. I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to see what was going to happen next.

The ringing only lasted for a minute but it seemed like an eternity. It suddenly ended. I had clamped by hands over my ears, but the frail bone and taught skin did nothing to conceal the unmistakable sound of chain being dragged across my sitting room floor.

No ghost I knew wore chains.

The dragging and clanking continued, coming ever closer to me. I could hear footsteps as they traveled up the flight of stairs, the chains catching and rattling on the edge of each step. 

In a seconds time the sounds were before me, and a figure appeared in the darkness, glowing though it was blacker than the shadows themselves. It was the cloaked figure that I had seen only a few moments before, but this one had chains fastened around its waist, wrists and ankles. 

Voldy had returned.

"You're…a ghost," I said as calmly as I could, trying to keep my voice from stuttering. "What do you want with me? What can you do?"

"Much," the ghost said. The voice was high pitched and venomous. There was no doubt that it was Voldy's voice.

"Who are you?" I asked, my mouth getting ahead of my brain.

But the Dark Lord did not laugh. "In life, or half-life as I wasn't truly alive, I was your master, the Dark Lord, Voldemort."

Well, duh.

"How can you be a ghost?" I asked, the fear starting to ebb away but doubt starting to form in my mind. Was this a trick pulled by the too-advanced-for-their-own-good seventh years? Could they ever do something like this?

"Only the most unfortunate become ghosts, Severus," he answered, his red eyes cutting into me. "I was only unfortunate because I made myself that way. I put myself in this position. I became a ghost, and with the worst punishments of all."

"But…what else would you be?"

"Not everyone becomes a ghost, Severus."

"I know but…"

"Silence." Voldy held up his hand, the chains rattling and clashing against each other. "You doubt me, but you should not. I am, how would you say, working myself up to a better after-life. I will always be a ghost, but there are ranks. It's like a caste system." He shrugged. I couldn't believe this was the same Voldy that millions of witches and wizards had feared around the world for years. "That's why I'm here."

"And why would that be?" I started to stand, but found that my knees would not support me. Voldy watched as I sunk back into the chair and relaxed against my will.

"You are walking down a dark path, Snape," Voldy said with a great shake of his chains. I couldn't help but think it was for a dramatic effect.

"You shouldn't be talking," I shot back with a snort.

"My path has ended," he turned away to walk toward the fireplace, and then turned back. I then realized that he was the only light source in the room, but every outline of furniture was clearly visible in the darkness. "My torture has begun. But to make my torture a little more endurable, I am here to help you."

"Okay, I get why you're _here_. But why _me_?"

"Because you have potential," Voldy said with a sigh. "You are not as hopeless as the others. You have good in you…"

"I'm not listening…" I said in a singsong voice, gazing up at a fly that was walking across the stone on the ceiling.

"LISTEN!" The unfortunate fly fell dead to the ground. I turned back to look at my deceased master, not wanting to, wishing he would just go away and leave me alone.

"Severus Snape," he continued with another rattle of his chains. "If you do not change your ways, you will end up like me for all eternity. Is that what you want?"

I refused to answer and pursed my lips. I almost laughed as I thought of the situation. I was sitting in my bedroom talking to the ghost of Lord Voldemort. When had my mind taken that final turn?

"So be it, this is my warning: Tonight you will be visited by three other spirits."

"What," I said with a smirk. "Only three? What can they do to me?"

"Much with persuasion, Snape," Voldy answered. "But I must be off. Expect the first when your clock strikes one."

"Is there no way to get around this?" I asked him, holding my robes down as they threatened to flail above my knees in a sudden draft (which had no doubt come from Voldy himself). 

"No. If you don't, you will be destined for my fate. There are never any guarantees, Severus, only choices. And those are yours."

He suddenly faded away, and the room was left in an unbearable chill. If there were windows in the dungeons, I would have thought that one had been opened. I stood in utter horror, not able to digest what had just happened. But not one more ounce of questioning beheld my brain, as I walked over to my bed and collapsed on it, barely able to close my eyes before I fell into a deep sleep.

~~~~

What do you think so far? You like? REVIEW! I have a problem and I need reviews to fuel my life. Really ; ) 


	2. A Glimpse into the Past

For all that other stuff, look at the last chapter.

**Chapter Two**

The First Visit  
  
  
  
When I awoke, I had no perception of time or place. Though I assumed I was in my room, which was probably because I was in a bed of the same support, with the same dank smell that I had begun to love so much, there were no windows so the darkness told me nothing of the hour. 

I groggily reached over to my nightstand where I groped lazily for my wand. Feeling the smooth willow-wood of an Olivander wand, 13 and ¼ inches with a core of dragon-heart string and unicorn's hair, I brought it into my grasp and whispered, "_Lumos_." A long strip of white light shot out the end, and I peered up at the clock that sat next to my bed. Twelve o'clock, dead on. But how could that be? I clearly remembered seeing that it was two when I retired, after my meeting with Voldy. The meeting, had it all been a dream?

But I remembered plainly, and it was no dream, that it had been two o'clock in the morning when I fell asleep. If that was true, then how could it be midnight? Perhaps it was already noon? The thought worried me, I had work to do and I had already wasted at least six hours of a prosperous day. 

"_Nox_." I climbed out of bed quickly and pulled on my robe. Saying a short spell, the candles that floated in the air above my head lit, using the same charm that affected the candles in the Great Hall, and filled the room with an eerie light. I listened intently for footsteps of the Slytherins that had stayed for the holidays, or a voice going down the hall. But I heard nothing. I looked at the clock, and, as I thought it had said, it read twelve midnight. Magic clocks were never wrong.

Sighing, I shrugged off my robe and again crawled into my bed, burrowing myself in the blankets to keep out the chill that I had become accustomed to. I said the counter spell to extinguish the candles, and I tried to sleep, but I could not. The hours had no pull on my eyelids, and the heaviness that had grown on my shoulders earlier that night had been lifted with only…a negative two-hour rest. 

I knew it had to be a dream. Or a trick. But the students wouldn't be able to do anything, they had no entrance, magical or not, into my dormitory. And the teachers had more class than to pull something so mediocre and low. Voldemort was dead; he would never come back…in ghost form or any other. That settled it, it was only a dream.

I stayed awake, watching the clock. The first quarter passed, then the second, then the third. I couldn't fall asleep for the life of me, and my eyes were starting to twitch from focusing on one object for such a long time. As my mind aimlessly wandered, I started thinking about how Muggles could stay slightly normal when they sat in front of this box which they referred to as a "telly" without going completely blind. 

I gave a snort in startled surprise as the chimes rang on my clock. It was one o'clock. The next minute passed, and I sighed in relief. I was right, it was only a dream, and the ghost hadn't come. 

"Awfully sorry I'm late," a voice suddenly said out of the darkness. "Three girls in the bathroom wouldn't leave. I wanted to get them in trouble for being out their houses after curfew, but I was afraid of what they would say if they saw me…"

Appearing before me was a young girl, the sheerest gray and transparent. A ghost, I had no doubts. She was squat and bespectacled and could have been no older than fourteen…when she died. Her face was drawn in a mixed look of self-pity, worry, and another feeling, perhaps smugness, which didn't quite fit in with the other two. I recognized the young girl; I had probably seen her before once or twice. She was not a regularly seen ghost; otherwise I would be able to easily identify her. 

So the spirit had come after all.

"So you're number one," I said with a sneer, making my voice as cold and unpleasant as possible. "May I ask your name?"

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past, or as most call me, Moaning Myrtle. Either will do." The ghost pushed her transparent (and probably not needed) spectacles up her nose and sat on my bed, sinking slightly through it. I felt the bitter cold as she passed through my toes. Noticing she had sat on me, she scooted closer to the footboard.

She looked around in the darkness, like she could actually see through it. "Nice place you got here," she commented. "Much better then the lavatories. It's an awful mess when the plumbing backs up…"

"Is there a reason you're here?" I interrupted impatiently. 

"Of course, Sevvy." I cringed at the horrid shortening of my name. "I'm here to show you your past."

"Why?"

"Look," she gave an exasperated sigh. "If you would actually listen when Voldy says something, I'm sure you would be much better…"

"Fine," I said, pulling my night robes down over my knees and climbing out of bed. "Let's go."

"Finally," she pushed her glasses up her nose again. I was starting to think that it wasn't an act of convenience, but instead a nervous habit. And it was awfully annoying. "Took you long enough. We're on a tight schedule. Follow me."

"At least let me get my clothes on first…" I protested.

She stopped and turned her head around to glare at me over her shoulder. "What did I say?"

"Fine, forget it," I mumbled. She turned back and continued walking down the stairs. I followed, already embarrassed that I was about to walk outside of my confines in my nightclothes. Especially since they weren't the most modern in the wizarding world. And I couldn't stand being bossed around by the ghost of a little girl. I would have strangled her, if that were possible.

By some stroke of luck, especially odd on a luck-free night like this, we made it up the stairs from the dungeon and to the main hall without anyone, human or otherwise, seeing us. We took another hallway off the great hall and took a number of complicated corridors and passages before we arrived at the stone gargoyle that blocked the way to what I knew to be Professor Dumbledore's office. I wondered why she had had taken me here.

"Ton-tongue toffee," Moaning Myrtle whispered, leaning close to the stone statue. It suddenly sprung to life and leaped aside, allowing entrance into the Headmaster's office. I had always known that Dumbledore liked to use the names of odd candies for his password, but 'ton-tongue toffees' I had never heard of.

She led me quietly up the stairs and opened the door that released us into an oval-shaped room; the bright walls adorned with long-since-dead headmasters' paintings, the witches and wizards all sleeping peacefully in their frames. Besides the dozing headmasters and the phoenix Fawkes, who was also resting on his perch, the room was completely empty of any living or once-living attendants. But even so, the room seemed to be alive itself with all the gadgets on the shelves that whirled about restlessly, never ceasing, chimes ringing at odd moments. But even with the clatter of these instruments, the room was eerily quiet, too quite for my taste. The ghost girl walked over to a cabinet, her form reflecting blue for a minute as she walked past a sapphire-colored orb. She swung open the cabinet doors (and I had thought that ghosts couldn't do that. Perhaps they could touch when they needed to?), and immediately a silvery-blue light poured like a stream into the room, illuminating the shining trinkets on Dumbledore's desk.

"Come here, Snapey," she said. Great, the cutesy version of my last name was even worse then the shortened version of my first. I think she was experimenting, throwing names out to see which one irritated me more. Whatever she was doing, if bothering me was her goal, it was working. 

Against my will I walked over the cupboard and squinted at the sight that greeted me. It was a shallow basin, wide and solid with odd characters I barely recognized carved into its sides. It was filled with a substance I have grown to love the sight of, like light made liquid, swirling around like rays caught in a whirlpool. Silver spun and wove in and out of each other, emitting a beautiful light. It was the only thing of real beauty I loved. It was Pensieve, memories made tangible. I had no need to ask why she had taken me here.

"Now…just lean forward a bit…"

I subconsciously leaned over the basin, my eyes pulled into its depths of silver nothingness. 

The amulet that hung around my neck stretched for the substance, dangling dangerously above it. I leaned closer, and felt an invisible pull reach for my body and take me its grasp. In a moment, my feet had left the ground and I was being hurtled downward, into Dumbledore's memories.

§

I looked up from the floor where I had landed, slightly dazed. I swept aside a few strands of my slick (I refused to call it "greasy", like so many other people had) and black hair out of my face. I had fallen bone-jarringly onto a hardwood floor, and the walls around me were decorated in a similar fashion to the witch decorum of over twenty years before.

I recognized the room very well. It was my own classroom, except cheerier and with more light then I had seen in recent years. Though it was brightly lit, the colors seemed muted and any little sound was stifled by a memory's ignorance of intense details. Even Dumbledore's thoughts couldn't store every embellishment of real life.

"Here you are," Moaning Myrtle said beside me. I jumped to my feet, startled. "Your third year at Hogwarts, first day of winter holidays."

"Where…" I began to growl. Then I saw him. Or should I say I saw me? It was the younger version of myself, only thirteen years old, and unaware of the life that awaited me. I had already made enemies of the four who called themselves "the Marauders", and other feelings I was not yet aware of, the odd feelings that lurked somewhere inside my body. It was not exactly a handsome body, but my black hair was clean and well kept, my nose not as crooked and pockmarked as it was now. I had a fierce intelligence and a thirst for knowledge. I put all my effort into potions, perfecting old ones and creating my own.

I sat at a table, squinting at a vial that I held in my long fingers. Dumbledore, then only a respected teacher (though even then there had been rumors that he would soon become the next headmaster), stood behind me and gazed over my shoulder as I diligently worked. He was younger then, but no one would be able to tell unless they had counted the difference in the number of fine lines on his wise face. He had the same sparkling blue eyes, gazing over the familiar half-moon spectacle. He wore robes of a rich royal blue, and he was looking pleased yet somewhat sad.

"Severus," he said quietly. His voice had not even changed in the years that I had become an adult. "You are doing very fine work, but will you not even consider going home to your family?" 

The younger me just grunted in reply and tipped the vial into the cauldron. 

"But I think someone was looking forward to your stay."

I watched as I set the vial and looked up at him questioningly. "My parents barely take my coming home on the summer holidays. Why do they want me for Christmas?"

My voice was so much softer then, not at all convicting or cold. If one were to look at the two of us, besides from the similarities in appearance and the same talent, he or she wouldn't be able to tell that we were one and the same.

"I wasn't talking about your parents." I couldn't help but recognize the mischievous glitter in Dumbledore's eyes. 

"Hello, Severus."

I watched silently as a girl walked by me, coming from the doorway. She was the same age as the young me, with lustrous auburn hair and an attractive face, her intense green eyes being the center of anyone's attention. It was unmistakably the thirteen-year-old Lilly Aarons, who we had started calling Lilly Potter at such a young age when she started dating James. A pang of jealousy shot through my heart, I had always felt something for her, and James knew it. I was overcome by sadness, looking at the young girl who didn't know that she would die after just getting married to her true love, James, and giving birth to their first and only child, the famous Harry Potter.

"Severus," she said again. "I would like you to come home with me for the holidays. Mum and Dad would love to have another wizard around. I don't want you to be here alone."

Much to my dismay, I felt my eyes getting wet. I wiped my sleeve across my face and continued to watch, ignoring the glances that the ghost was giving me.

"I won't take no for an answer," she interrupted, grinning her famous grin that made a majority of the boys at Hogwarts stutter and start to sweat in odd places. I was among that majority.

The young me looked up at her, amazement shining in my innocent eyes. "O-okay," I said in some sort of daze. I watched as I quietly and absent-mindedly put my things into my book bag and followed her out the door, muttering a quiet "'Bye, Professor," as I walked past.

Dumbledore was now the only one remaining in the room, and he was smiling.

Suddenly and without warning, I stumbled into a dark void, where the ghost and I were the only ones there.

"Where are we?" I asked, wiping away the stinging tears that had again begun to grow in my eyes.

"Between memories," Myrtle answered without interest. "We'll be at the next one in a few moments." There was an uncomfortable pause and I watched as a transparent smirk formed on her face. Then she dropped the bombshell. "You loved her, didn't you?"

I turned away, hoping she couldn't see me blushing in the darkness. "She was my first love. Of course, she never knew. And she never would."

Myrtle nodded in understanding. "She died a woman. She had children."

"One," I corrected her quickly. "A boy."

Myrtle nodded again. "Of course, Harry Potter." She pushed her glasses up her nose (I had the sudden urge to knock them off of her head, but I knew that wasn't possible). "Well, we'll be visiting your next and last human love here shortly…"

"What?" I groaned loudly. "No, no, no. Not…"

Before I could answer, I was thrust on my face into a noisy room crowded with tons of people, mostly young. From the scent of in the air and the rosy glow of bewitched holly leaves, I knew this was the Yule Ball of the first year I had started my job at Hogwarts.

There I sat, at the head table, staring out at the students with an uninterested smile plastered across my face. It was odd to see myself smile; I hadn't seen it in so long. But even a first year could tell that my mind had wandered elsewhere.

About two spots down the staff table. 

There a witch sat. She was older than I, I must admit, but her face was still unlined and her eyes held youthful warmth. She wore her preferred pointed hat and favorite tartan dress robes, which she still liked to wear after even several years. She was intelligent, interesting, and oddly attractive to me. She was…

Professor Minerva McGonagall.

My eyes didn't leave her all evening, through dances and meals I always watched her, either straight on or from the corner of my gaze. I watched as she gracefully spooned custard into her mouth, as she nibbled on a piece of apple bread, as she sipped on her cider. 

The present me squirmed as I watched them, her mostly. I remembered everything; it was exactly the same as I had pictured it. I had almost forgotten that the ghost was there until she said something, startling me. 

"So odd that they're so grateful for something so unimportant."

"Unimportant?" I said angrily.

"This hall is not nearly as beautiful as it has been these days. Does Dumbledore even deserve so much recognition?"

"He had and has the right to make us happy and unhappy. He is the very personification of happiness himself."

She shrugged. "Whatever you say. But we must quicken on."

Before I could protest we were thrown into another memory, this one nearer than the last. I saw me again, a man in the prime of my life. But under the happier façade, I saw the restlessness and eagerness in my eyes. 

Someone was sitting besides me, and I jumped to my feet in utter surprise. Dumbledore had not been there, so why was this memory included?

"This is my own gift," Myrtle said with a smug smile as if she could read my mind. "Ghosts can work a little magic, too."

I didn't answer her but focused in on the woman and myself. It was McGonagall who sat beside me, looking frustrated and displeased. 

"It doesn't matter anymore," she said softly. "To you, I am little. Another idol has replaced me. You have no room left in your heart for love."

"What idol has displaced you?" I sneered. I could have yelled at my younger self for being so stupid. 

"A dark one."

"Minerva," Young I said softly, reaching out to touch her face but then withdrawing my hand. "You know what I am doing. You know how important it is. I am with the Dark Lord for a good purpose."

"But he has had his effects on you," she whispered, not meeting my gaze. "I have seen the change. You are cold and uncaring, there is no room left for me in your life."

"I am wiser," I answered, my teeth gritting. "I have learned much, all of which I will apply for the rest of my life. All of which will make me a great Wizard."

She shook her head sadly. "My love was made with another man."

"I was a boy," I answered impatiently.

"Then love to you is a boy's game. I do not care if my husband is the most powerful wizard in the world. I want love, Severus. But you can't give that to me any more. You don't know how many lonely nights I have thought about this. But I will release you."

"I have never sought release."

"I know," she hung her head, and from the angle where the present me stood, I saw the tear course down her cheek that I hadn't seen when I was on the bench next to her.

"What, then?"

"I am nothing to you. Would you try to win me now? Tell me!"

I watched as I struggled for words, the mind which I thought quick and superior struggling to keep up with the disappearing emotions inside of me. "You don't think so."

"I would like to think otherwise if I could. But now I know the truth. I release you, the love has faded from your soul."

I was about to say something, and even the present me was about to run after her, but I knew I could do no good.

"Meetings between us will be awkward, I regret out occupations will bring us together much. But I do not care, may you be happy in the life you have chosen, Professor Snape!"

McGonagall had walked briskly away and I was left alone on the bench in the gardens of Hogwarts. 

"Take me back home," I muttered angrily. "I want to see no more of this."

Moaning Myrtle sighed and gave a clap of her hands. "Very well, but I do regret leaving. This has been a most interesting experience."

She gave another clap of her hands and I was suddenly back in my bedroom, and the ghost was gone. I wondered how I had gotten back to my room, since we had been in Dumbledore's office when I tumbled into his memories. 

If it really was a dream, it was very tiring. Not ever having felt a fatigue so intense, I fell onto my bed and again fell into a sleep unlike I had never experience, filled with haunting dreams of memories I had wished forgotten.

~~~

Please review! Tell me what you think!


	3. Reckoning of the Present

For all the disclaimer stuff, see the last chapter.

Jingle bells, jingle bells...

Chapter Three

The Second Visit  
  
  
  
Awaking in the middle of a stubborn snore and sitting up in my bed to get my thoughts together, I quickly glanced at the clock that stood by my four-poster bed. 

It was still one o'clock.

Suddenly, the chamber lit and the room was filled with a bright glow, and I shielded my eyes against the change in light. Squinting, I peaked out from behind my hand and gasped as my glance passed across the room. The floor was covered in food of every size, shape, color, and taste. Fruits of every kind and sweetness: juicy pears and oranges, rosy apples, and spiky pineapples; piles of luscious vegetables and dressings, cakes and candies of every kind piled into Honeydukes bags, meat of every origin, and kegs of Butterbeer lined the edge of every wall and spilled onto the stone floor.

In my chair sat a Giant, one who looked spectacularly like Hagrid, and was dressed in robes of rich red and green with fur lining. His cap was loose fitting and lined with wool, and his cheeks held a tinge of merry red.

"Good mornin', Professor Snape," the Giant said. Indeed, it was Hagrid. But if he was a ghost, wasn't he supposed to be dead?

I voiced my opinion. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?" I said quickly. 

"Ah, sure, but that takes all th' fun out ov'it!" Hagrid clapped his hands--which were the size of trashcan lids--together and swooped an apple off of the floor. "I'm the Ghost of Christmas Present!"

"What do you want?" I said with a sigh. This was getting tiring; the last thing I wanted was dirty Hagrid the oafish gamekeeper in my room in the wee hours of the morning.

"Touch my robe," he said with a mischievous grin, stroking his curly brown beard.

I frowned, but leaned forward and took the velvety fabric in my hand. "Why am I doing this?"

Hagrid shrugged. "I just always wanted to say that."

Suddenly, a thin, cold chain was thrown over my neck and Hagrid was holding a tiny hourglass in his hand. "Time t' go," he rumbled.

"Hey, that's a Time T-"

Before I could finish my sentence he had given the hourglass eight sharp turns forward, and I was pulled from by bedroom once again, the piles of fruits, vegetables, meat and pastries disappearing, and lead by a ghost that wasn't really dead.

§

Hagrid quickly lead me into the gardens, which were lit with dazzling sunlight and the white reflection off the freshly fallen snow. The windows of Hogwarts's towers were bleak and unoccupied, except for the owls that swooped in and out of the portholes in the Owlry. It seemed to still be early, for neither students nor teachers were out roaming the snow-covered grounds. 

"We must be off." Hagrid took Snape by the collar, hoisted him into his arms, and ran off in a quick jog. It took about five minutes before they reached the gates of Hogwarts. They quickly exited, Apparated, and Snape was taken aback as he saw that he was standing in front of a dilapidated, too-many-stories-for-its-own-good house with broken shudders and odd colored siding. A sign nearby read "The Burrow".

"Where are we?" I grumbled, looking around cautiously. 

"What? Can't ya read, professor?" Hagrid gave me a slap on the back, almost sending me straight into a dangerous looking rosebush. "We're at the Burrow!" he added with a mighty guffaw.

"Yes, charming," I answered with obvious sarcasm. "But who does this…erm…lovely home belong to?"

"Dun tell me you don't e'en recognize yur own assistants place!" Hagrid said, his mouth hanging slightly ajar. "Why, this is the Weasley home!"

"I should have known…" I grumbled under my breath. Hagrid obviously didn't hear me; otherwise he probably would have had me on the ground in seconds.

"Come on now, professor." He threw something soft and flowing over my head, the sheen of pure silver. It was silky to the touch, like what the Pensieve would have felt like if it were touchable. Liquid light.

It was an Invisibility Cloak. 

"We dun want to be seen," Hagrid said in a hoarse whisper. "Time travel is dangerous stuff it is, dunno what could ever 'appen…"

I begrudgingly followed Hagrid closer to the house, and he lifted me up on his shoulders to see through the windows and into the Weasley's sitting room. Arthur Weasley sat in a patched, red velvet chair, with a small 6th year I recognized to be Ginny Weasley curled up asleep at his feet. A rotund woman with a cheery face hovered around the tree, while the two Weasley Twins, Fred and George, climbed around under the boughs looking for hidden presents that they hadn't already found. I almost laughed at the sight of them, they were both well out of Hogwarts and adults in the wizarding world, and yet they were clambering around the Christmas tree in red footsy pajamas (which, I must add, clashed horribly with their hair) like two year olds at…well…Christmas time.

"Really too bad that Ron didn't come home this year," Mrs. Weasley said softly, turning to speak to her husband. I could see the glint of tears in her eyes. "The whole family is here…except for him."

Indeed, the other five children were there, the two older boys sitting in chairs on either side of the room, Percy Weasley and his wife Penelope were resting on the couch with a red haired child resting in between them, and the twins and Ginny were obviously there, also. I stared in disgust at whom I recognized as Bill Weasley. He had definitely not changed since he had left Hogwarts; the same rebellious attitude, the smug smile, the same way of dressing that said "I'm just waiting to be shot". He was relaxing in an overstuffed chair, his legs stretched out in front of him, clothed in torn jeans (Muggle clothing!) and an old t-shirt. A single earring hung from his right ear, a tiny fang. I decided I didn't want to know what monstrosity he had gotten that from.

"Don't worry about him, Mum," Charlie, a short and stocky young man, said reassuringly. "This is his last year at Hogwarts. I don't blame him for wanting to stay. He'll be home next year. Besides, he doesn't want to leave Hermione during the Christmas hols." He grinned, and Mrs. Weasley turned slightly pink.

"Hey!" Fred-or was it George? - suddenly said from the tree. "There aren't any good presents here!"

The older couple turned an even darker shade or rouge and exchanged sad glances. 

"We're…not doing so well this year, George." So it was George. "Ever since I lost my job, things have been tight."

The twins turned to their parents and nodded. "So this is all ol' Snape's fault, isn't it?" they said in unison. I flinched outside the window at the mention of my name.

"No, no," Arthur was looking very tired and ragged, the bags under his eyes making him look like he was much older than he really was. "It's my fault I got fired from the ministry. It's because of Snape that we have Christmas at all."

"But that crotchety old fool…you deserve twice as many galleons as you make!" This time it had been Charlie who had spoken. Any slight liking I had previously had for the quiet one of the family immediately vanished.

Mrs. Weasley quickly cut in. "Fred, George, go change into some proper clothes. Dinner is almost on and you're still wandering around in your pajamas…"

"Oh, come on, Mum, its Christmas!" George…I think…said.

She gave them a glare that could burn a hole through a concrete wall, and the two scurried upstairs without another word.

In a short time, though it seemed forever to one who was balancing uncomfortably on a Giant's shoulders (that would be me), the family had re-gathered downstairs and the flocked into the dining room. Hagrid carried me to the next window and I peaked in at them, all conversing, laughing, and waiting patiently for their Christmas feast to be served.

Then I noticed that there were two people missing, besides Mrs. Weasley who I saw running about in the kitchen. As to answer my question, Arthur walked grimly into the dining room, Ginny leaning weakly on his arm. She was pale and small, and so fragile that it looked like she would break with just a brush of a feather. Her face was sunken and her thin body gangly and gaunt, but her eyes were bright and full of life. Her health had progressively grown worse over the past years, she had stopped attending Hogwarts (and I had been glad at the time, I had never particularly cared for the Weasley children), and I had never seen her after…until now. I had heard that she was ill with some sort of magical ailment, but no one knew what it was, nor were they able to cure it. All she could do was stay home and wait, hoping that one day they would find the solution to her problem. Not only had her body grown weak, but also her powers had vanished without a trace.

"Dinner!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, and at once a meager feast appeared on the table. It consisted only of a few small bowls of vegetables, and the bird was no bigger than a canary. I watched as the looks fell on everyone's face, including that of Mrs. Weasley's. 

Everyone lifted their tarnished wineglasses in their toast. "To the health of Professor Snape, the founder of this feast!" Weasley shouted, startling me so much that I almost fell off Hagrid's shoulders. 

"Founder of this feast indeed!" Mrs. Weasley said with a huff, her chubby face turning as red as her hair. "I wish that Scrooge were here, I would give him a piece of my mind that he can feast upon…"

The children exchanged knowing glances across the table.

"My dear," Arthur said. "The children! It's Christmas Day!"

Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips in anger and annoyance. "It should be Christmas Day, I am sure, that anyone should drink to the health of an odious, arrogant, selfish, self-righteous man as Mr. Snape." Ouch. "You know it, Arthur, better than anyone else!"

"Christmas Day…" Weasley said again, mumbling this time out of obvious fear of his raving wife.

"I'll drink his health for your sake and the Day's," said Mrs. Weasley, " but not for his. Long life to him! A happy Christmas and a merry New Year! He'll be very happy and very merry, I have no doubt."

I flinched at the sarcasm in her voice, but the children drank to my health after she spoke.

"God bless us, everyone." Ginny said the blessing quietly, and they dug into their food.

Besides Mrs. Weasley's hateful toast, no one complained of the feast that had been given, and this was all they could afford because of the less than spectacular wages I had given to Arthur. Ginny sat quietly at the table, picking through her good with uninterest, her pale skin and lackluster hair filling the room with a drab and depressing void.

"Will Ginny live?" I asked Hagrid, more out of curiosity than anything. 

"I don't know. I'm not Trewleny, professor. But in my min', all I can see of poor Gin's future is an empty chair and an unused wand." 

I remained silent. I didn't know what to say, and I certainly wasn't going to say anything sympathetic, after all, I was Snape. My heart wasn't anywhere near melting. Hearts of iron do not melt as easily as hearts of ice.

Without a word of warning, we had Apparated again. We were outside the familiar Hogwarts gates.

"Time is runnin' short," Hagrid said heavily as he picked me up and ran, lurching, across the school grounds, into the castle, and up several flights of stairs. We soon reached a portrait of a humungous woman in a stretched pink dress who was waiting peacefully in her frame. 

"Who's there?" she whispered. She had undeniably heard Hagrid's footsteps, and the dull thud as Hagrid set me down (well, dropped me is really the correct word) on the stone floor. But the Invisibility Cloak was still draped over our shoulders and it was impossible for her to smell us or feel us. We were just a phantom to her.

Hagrid scratched his head in thought, the big oaf seemed to have forgotten the password to whatever corridor he was forcing me into. 

After what seemed like eternity, he finally remembered. "_Dance Macabre_," he muttered. 

With an eerie shudder, the Fat Lady said "very well" and swung forward, allowing us entrance.

The first thing that called my attention was the coloring of the room I had stepped into. From the burgundy walls and upholstery, accented with subtle gold, I knew that I was now in the Gryffendor common room. And yet I had no idea why. 

"What the heck is "charades"?" a familiar voice said from near the fire. Hagrid and I walked closer, making sure not to create too much noise as to cause a distraction. That's what I had liked about the previous ghost's visits better; there was no risk of getting caught by your old self in a memory. 

We walked closer until we were right behind an overstuffed couch, looking down on its inhabitants. Hermione Granger was curled up on it, her bushy-haired head resting comfortably on Ron Weasley's shoulder and smiling. Harry Potter was seated in the nearest wing-backed chair, and from the exaggerated angle it sat at in the otherwise orderly room, he had dragged it closer to the couch to speak to his friends.

"It's this game," Hermione got up from her seat on the couch, Ron reaching out to protest, and gestured in the air. "You do actions with your hands and people have to guess what you're acting out. It's a very popular Muggle game."

"Sounds boring," Ron said, eying his Wizard chess set that sat idly on the table.

"I'm sure you'll like it, Ron," Potter said, leaning back in the chair. "I'm getting tired of chess anyway."

"Yes, _do_ come on, Ron. Just for a change."

Weasley groaned. I felt like kicking something, not for any particular reason. Just to make a loud noise and startle them. I started to slowly lift my leg off the ground, but Hagrid stamped his heel down on my foot. I would have yelped out in pain if the Giant hadn't slipped his hand over my mouth at that precise moment.

"Did you hear something?" Potter said. He looked past us-or through us, should I say-and it was a most eerie feeling. His bangs had parted across his forehead and the dark, lightning-shaped scar that adorned it was clearly visible in the firelight.

"No, I didn't," Hermione said, shaking her bushy head. "Now, let's get on with it."

Snape yawned as the three children went through at least a dozen long acts, and soon Longbottom came downstairs from the boy's dormitory to join them. "Did you bring me here to bore me?" I said to Hagrid, but he nudged me in a manner that told me I was going to be crushed if I didn't shut up.

"My turn!" Hermione said cheerfully, getting up from her position on Weasley's shoulder. She jumped up to the front beside the fire, and I waited, hoping her robes would catch on fire. Or her hair; that would have been amusing.

After a sequence of Granger attempting to smooth down her bushy hair and other numerous rude gestures, Longbottom finally yelled out "Snape!" All four of them roared in laughter, and I was starting to turn red. "So this is for my anger, instead?"

Hagrid stomped on my foot, and I almost yelled out in pain.

"No," Hagrid whispered, dragging me back and pushing the portrait open. 

"Listen, there it is…" Potter said, cut off when the portrait door closed.

"Don't it bother you in th' leas' bit?" Hagrid said, dragging me along the corridor.

"No," I said, but hesitantly. Something inside me moved, something I hadn't felt before. Guilt? Regret?

"Yur lyin', Professor."

"No, I'm not. Now let me go!" I exclaimed. The oaf didn't listen but continued to drag me down the hall, down several flights of stairs, and in front of a sculptor of a bewitched pineapple that had sprouted a tree from it's leaves.

"Here's where I'll leave ya," Hagrid said. "Have a good Christmas, Professor." He jerked the cloak from our shoulders and I was again visible. With a nod, he threw it over himself and in a shimmer disappeared.

"Well that's just great…" I muttered, looking both ways down the hallway. Though I didn't want to admit it, I was lost. I had never been lost in Hogwarts before. Dumb oaf of a Giant, I would be sure to talk to Dumbledore about him.

I jumped as the clock struck twelve.

When the last stroke of the chime ceased to vibrate, I looked about desperately. Behind me a wall had formed, and I was now stuck in a dead-end hall. Then I saw it, a figure draped and hooded, floating like a black mist toward me. 


	4. Shadows of the Future

A/N: I'm in a mad rush to get this story done before Christmas. With God's grace, it will happen!!! Now in the meantime, I hope you enjoy Chapter Four of _A Hogwarts Carol_!

Chapter Four

_The Last Spirit_  
  
  
  
The ghost slowly, gravely, silently approached. When it came near, I remained erect and stared into where its eyes should have been. Its cloak was the deepest black, the face hidden in shadows. The stirring fear in my heart told me that it was a Dementor, but my good sense told my otherwise.

And yet…

It stretched out its hand to me, and I have expected the skin to be scabby and gray, slimy like it had come from the depths of the ocean and horrible like the pits of hell. But instead, it was dark and shone like moonlight, the glimmer of a real ghost's hand. Silver blood stained the front of the midnight robes, and the gleam of silver eyes caught the torchlight in the deserted hallway. I thought it was the Bloody Baron, but even then I was not sure. How a ghost could wear something real and material was beyond my reasoning, and I had a lapse in which I thought my mind was betraying me, leaving my helpless body behind in a crumpled mass on the hallway floor.

"You are the Ghost of Christmas Past, if you are indeed a ghost," I said. I did not hear one hint of questioning or fear in my voice as it came back to me in the shadow, echoing as if I was the only one in the room.

The spirit did not answer, but pointed onward with its hand. 

"Let me guess," I said in mockery. "You are going to show me the shadows of what has not yet happened, but will come in time before us, right?"

The ghost gave a slight inclination of its head. I took this as a yes.

"Lead on," I said. "Might as well get this over with."

Suddenly, I noticed that my voice no longer had an echo. In eerie realization, I stood in a deserted hallway, a different one then I had once been in, as black as the cloak of the ghost.

Despite my sense and steady mind, I was becoming afraid.

"Will you speak to me?" I asked of the spirit, who was standing by my side. 

It gave me no reply, but just continued to point. "All right," I sighed. "Fine."

We continued through a maze of halls and stairwells, into the very heart of Hogwarts. We passed a hall with windows reaching out to the courtyard, and with a shock I realized that it was dusk and not the midnight that I had become accustomed to.

Malfoy was standing in the hallway, flanked by his dear friends Crabb and Goyle, and had several other Slytherins surrounding him. I could hear the gentle clinks of Galleons shifting in their robe pockets. 

I didn't need the direction from the spirit; I went over to them anyway. Approaching them, I cleared my throat to make sure that they wouldn't get in trouble for being caught doing something against the rules, and when they didn't hear me I coughed. They didn't turn and I took another step forward, then stopped again. The heel of my hard boots did not make a sound on the floor. They could not see, hear, or feel me. I was just a ghost of the past in their presence.

"Yes, he's dead all right." Malfoy drawled, smiling proudly. 

"When did he die?" Inquired a rather hideous female fourth year.

"Last night, I think." Malfoy's platinum hair was gleaming in the approaching starlight.

"What happened to him?" Crabbe asked; that was the most intelligent and well thought out thing I had ever heard him say. "I thought he would never die."

"God knows," said Malfoy, with a yawn.

"What happened to his potion ingredients, his money, his…things?" asked a bright eyed second year, fingering the Galleons in his pocket greedily.

"I don't know," Malfoy answered. "If he left them to me, hell if I'd know."

Everyone around him laughed, but I couldn't understand why.

"It's likely to be a very cheap funeral," Malfoy said again. "I don't know of anybody who would go. He's probably not even dead; he'll probably end up as the new Slytherin Ghost. Well, dead, but…you know what I mean."

The crowd nodded in agreement, hanging on each of Draco's words.

"I'll go if there's food," Goyle said, not surprisingly, to the others.

"Well, I don't know, I'm not much for mourning the old bastard," Malfoy stated. "But it's not like he didn't consider me a friend. I might have gotten my foot into the door. Maybe I can just take over for him after I graduate." He grinned. "And finally get that Defense Against the Dark Arts job. I'll be the one who lasts." 

There were mumbles "sures" echoing through the gathering, but Draco ignored them. "Well, see you all later then." 

The crowd dispersed, and I turned to the spirit for an explanation. I was very confused, wondering if I still had my right mind. I didn't think I had had it since the clock struck midnight the first time. 

The crowd had disappeared and I was in a dark room. The only part that was lit was a four-poster bed, like every single bed in Hogwarts, and in it was a man. All I saw was a toe peeking out of the blanket at the footboard, and nothing else. The man wasn't breathing. 

A flash of silver distracted me and I glanced up. A ghost was standing on the other side of the bed, and it was not the Bloody Baron. It a figure laden with chains and sorrows, one I recognize but refused to register familiarity in my mind.

"What is this?" I asked, gazing at the Bloody Baron.

The spirit replied in no way, but very soon I found myself in a crowded room, and by the smell and the employees, I figured that I was now standing in The Three Broomsticks- a popular pub in Hogsmead. Directly in front of me, at a round table almost hidden by a large, dying Christmas tree, three familiar figures huddled. 

I stepped to the table and kneeled next to it, staring straight into the faces of its occupants, remaining unnoticed. The three were Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger, and they were all whispering among themselves. Fortunately, with my advantage of not being able to be seen, I was able to listen in on their conversation. 

"Well, what do we have?" Hermione grabbed the heavy rucksack from her side and poured its contents onto the table. Out came a flood of possessions, trinkets to gadgets, bottles and flasks. Three heavy books landed with a dull thud on the pile of objects.

"We'll see when Bagman gets here," Harry said, grabbing an eagle feather quill from the mess and running it through his fingers. "But don't we want to keep some of this? You know, when our needs call for it?"

"Good point, Harry," Weasley replied, beginning to examine a flask nearest to him.

Within ten minutes they picked through their findings and stowed them away in Granger's sack, then waited patiently. Suddenly, a cloaked figure stopped down to the table, a generous belly pushing the limits of the robe, a ruddy face beaming from the shadowy overhang of the hood. Ludo Bagman's bright eyes looks with greed upon the objects stacked up before him on the table's surface.

"Hullo, Mr. Bagman," Harry said quietly, but brightly.

"What do you have? My sales are running low; nothing else is keeping me alive. Ever since I got fired from the charity for…" He stopped himself, his face reddening in embarrassment.

"It's okay, Mr. Bagman," Hermione assured him. "We know you didn't steal the money."

"Shhh!" Bagman jerked his head around, making sure no one was watching. Of course, no one was. "No one needs to know it's me here!"

Weasley's face scrunched up in disbelief. "Fine."

Ludo's face brightened again. "Wow, you really outdid yourselves." He picked up a flask filled with a venom green liquid, and then examined an ancient looking book with interest. "I'll give you three hundred Galleons for the lot."

"Deal." Potter pushed the pile toward him, and Bagman quickly and carefully placed everything in his bag. 

Bagman nodded. "Thanks, kids. I don't know what I would ever do without you. See you, soon." Bagman ruffled Weasley's hair, and they all frowned as he left. 

"Well, it's something for nothing. At least we could help him out, I feel sorry for him. When he didn't do that well last Christmas, the charity refused to believe that no one was donating and accused him of stealing the money and potion ingredience."

"We know, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "It's not like we've never heard it before."

"Well, what are we going to do about the other stuff? I guess it won't be long before they find him…"

I turned to the Ghost. "Why am I here?" I asked, genuinely suspicious of the three student's behavior. If I could have been seen, I would have turned them into the Ministry right then and there for selling stolen goods.

Suddenly, the tavern was gone. I recognized myself to be back in the Burrow, it being only slightly different then when I had last seen it, but the shadows of dreariness flowing through the interior and blackening the windows and the heavy hearts of its inhabitants.

I was standing in their family room on the lower floor. A fire was roaring in the fireplace, and the twins were sitting on the floor picking through a few dilapidated books, unusually grim looks on their faces. Mrs. Weasley was polishing her wand, and from the extra shiny gloss, I thought that it had already been shined more times than was necessary. 

"It's starting to hurt my eyes," Mrs. Weasley said, setting her wand down on the end table. "The brightness makes them weak, your father doesn't need to see weak eyes when he comes home. He's on his way." She gazed over at a grandfather clock-like object that stood in the corner, three hands pointing at "home" and the largest one pointing at "traveling".

"He's become slower," Fred commented, not looking up from his book. "His Apparitions are beginning to get sloppy, taking longer than they used to."

There was silence, then Mrs. Weasley said, in a steady cheerful voice that only faltered once: "He app- he was always so happy when he had Ginny with him. Showing her the steps, and he always went so fast." 

"I know," Twin #1 said from behind a book titled "Magical Pranks for the Downtrodden". 

"Little Ginny loved it so much…" Mrs. Weasley further observed. A chime sounded from the clock. "Your father's home!" she exclaimed, jumping up with quickness surprising for a larger woman. 

"Hello, everyone!" Arthur was cheerful enough, speaking kindly and lovingly to his family, patting each twin on the back. All four of the absent boys, Charlie, Bill, Percy, and Ron, were moving in the picture frames on the mantle. 

"You're late," Molly said as Arthur hugged her tightly. "Did you go?"

"Yes," he said, releasing her and collapsing into his favorite old chair. "You should have seen how beautiful it was. The green grass wasn't even frozen in the winter chill. "

"I miss her," one of the twins said solemnly.

The family fell silent, and only the crackle of the small fire could be heard.

I unexpectedly felt a tugging on my sleeve. "We are leaving, then?" I asked the ghost expectantly. It's cloaked head nodded, and I gazed at the silent family with interest. "All right, but I hope this terrible dream will end soon. I can not begin to guess at who and how many people are dead at this point in the future."

The spirit gave me a push, solid - odd how he could touch me, and I fell onto my knees onto grass. I guessed that I was no longer in the Weasley's living room, and I looked up to see that I was kneeling on cold, wet, green grass, the wind howling in my ears, the trees in the distance swaying and creaking. My skin stung with the cold of the winter chill, my black robes were stained with mud, and my nose instantly, and humiliatingly, started to run. 

I crawled on my hands and knees through the frozen and overgrown grass and came to rest on a slight swell in the ground. It had been fairly recently dug, for the grass was only a fuzz in the soil. 

The transparent, gray finger came down to point at a stone the lay a few feet ahead of me, silver-blood stained robes refusing to flap in the breeze. 

I grumbled and swiped the grass and weeds, which seemed to grow from magical aid around the stone, aside and read the name carefully.

**Severus Snape**

The understanding, which I had refused to come to earlier, appeared to me with a wrenching bite. Malfoy, who I had thought had liked me, was bashing on me in the hall. Hermione, Ron, and Harry had been selling my things that they had stolen to an impoverished Bagman, who had lost his job partly because I refused to donate to his charity. The Weasleys had lost Ginny because I refused to pay Arthur the wages he deserved and declined the offer to help on any research that could be done for her illness. I was the man that laid dead in the four-poster bed in my dungeon room, and I was the burdened ghost who watched my lifeless body in the dead of night.

The future had been shown to me, and Voldy was right. 

"Then I am past hope, if this is the future that waits for me," I muttered to the Bloody Baron, who stood over me like an icy, unmoving, and uncaring statue. "What was the point of this at all?"

The spirit stared at me, it's stillness in the howling wind sending odd impulses down my nerve endings.

"If there is a point…it means I can change the course of the future?

"I am a proud man," I admitted to the stone spirit, unbelieving of my willingness to open up to the creature. "Even though the causes were good, spying on the Dark side made my heart bitter. I turned away from everything I held dear. In childhood, I had no family to speak of, and the girl that invited me into hers married someone else and died soon after graduation. If you think that these things do not give me reason to turn to only myself, then you have no reason to being me to this place."

I took a deep breath and continued, and despite the pride that I held about me like an iron shield, hot tears started to form in my eyes. "I am sorry," I whispered, hoping the ghost couldn't hear me. "I am sorry for all the hearts I've broken, the friends I've hurt. I'm sorry for being such a terrible and cruel person. And though this may not come easily, I am willing to change. The misery of an afterlife roaming the halls of Hogwarts as a forgotten spirit is beyond the tortures of the earth." Tears had started to roll down my cheeks, threatening to cling to my face in the cold. "I am willing to change, one step at a time.

"Bloody Baron, I'm willing to change."

The spirit nodded and then stilled. Around me, the graveyard darkened and faded into blackness. The cloaks disappeared as the body of the ghost formed into solid wood, shrinking, collapsing, and dwindling down into a single bedpost.

~~~~

Review, please! Next chappy hopefully coming BEFORE Christmas. And if not, Happy Christmas to you all!


	5. The End of It

A/N: Here it is! The fifth and final chapter of "A Hogwarts Carol"! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!  
  
  
  
  


Chapter Five

_The End of It_

The bedpost was mine! All mine! I was in my room, the glorious room that was already lit with candles that floated in the air, a room and a bed that was all mine. And best of all, the time was my own! I was in the wonderful present, and though I hated to admit it, I had never been so happy in my life.

"Never has Voldy done so much good!" I said, leaping out my bed and stepping out of my nightclothes and into my robes. I opened my drawers and cupboards, and they were all full with ingredients and items, exactly the same as I had left them. They had not been taken, stolen, or sold. 

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and was greeted by a foreign site. I was smiling. "I swear I am drunk!" I said, lifting my hand to my forehead and swiping my hair away from my eyes, the grin never leaving my lips. It was such an uncharacteristic façade that I stumbled away from the mirror in surprise. 

Quickly, I ran to the Great Hall and was greeted by many stares and surprised looks. I quickly downplayed my smile into a smug smirk, which was not uncharacteristic to my personality. I was happy, but not so that I needed to show everyone just how happy I was.

I was about to ask what day it was when I noticed the decorations in the Hall: the Christmas trees, the garland, the colored candles, the holly, the mistletoe, the enchanted snow falling softly from the ceiling. I had no doubt that it was Christmas Day.

Feeling slightly enchanted myself, I walked over to the one table that ran down the middle of the hall, and each student and staff member gazed up from their breakfasts to glance at me.

"Good morning Potter, Weasley, Granger," I said without my usual growl as I took a seat besides Ms. Granger. She scooted closer to Weasley, almost ending up in his lap; which I don't think he would object to. 

"Weasley," I continued, and he looked at me with horror and interest, his red hair framing his confused face. "I want you to take your two cronies and…go home."

"WHAT?" Ron shot from the table, his ears a flaming red and his face enraged. "You can't expel me! I didn't do anything! And neither did Harry or Her-"

"I am not expelling you, Mr. Weasley, I am simply sending you home for the rest of the Christmas Holiday. I know it was your choice to stay here with your friends, but you need to be with them. And you'll still have you friends with you. "

"But…but why?" the entire table, including my own Slytherin students and Dumbledore himself, were now staring at us with unfailing interest. 

My face was beginning to redden. "If you want to spend the holiday with your family and your friends, I suggest you grasp this opportunity, Weasley. I am simply being kind, for a change. Oh, and Mr. Potter, forget about the potion for class."

They were all looking at me, mouths gaping open like stunned codfish. The three of them stood up, preparing to grab their things so they could spend the rest of their holiday at the Burrow.

"Oh, and Weasley…"

He turned back to me; disappointment racking his face as he figured that there must be some catch to this that he hadn't figured out. "Don't forget this, your mother will want a bigger bird than the one she has." I threw him two Galleons and he caught them swiftly, running his hands along the surface. 

"Th-thank you, Mr. Snape, I really don't know what to say." Ron's face was almost as bright as his hair. 

"Just go," I waved a dismissive hand. "The carriage will be here to take you home in five minutes."

They nodded and disappeared into the entry hall. Stuffing a piece of sausage into my mouth, I promptly noticed that I still held the attention of the entire school that had remained for the holidays. 

"Professor Snape, what has gotten into you?" My heart leapt as I heard Minerva McGonagall, my dear little Minny, speak to me from the gap where Granger and Weasley had formerly hid her from my view. I scooted over to her and whispered, "Much, my dear. Much."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as I left the hall and rushed up to my room. I had things to get ready for.   
  
  
  
I arrived at the Burrow at three that afternoon. It was already darkening, being the middle of winter, and clouds covered the stars and moon. The air smelled heavily of ice and snow. Drawing my robes closer around my body, I knocked on the ramshackle door. Through the thin walls, I could hear the voices inside.

"Who could that be on this day? And at this hour?" I heard Arthur come to the door and it creaked open; where the horrified face of my assistant greeted me. "Professor?"

"Weasley," I growled, my voice lowering into its unhappiest growl. "I hear laughing. Why do I hear laughing?"

The hue of his face was becoming the color of the red hair that remained on his balding head.

His eyes were wide and his mouth slack in terror. It was always nice to know that I struck fear in people's hearts, even if I didn't exactly want to. "B-because it is Christmas, sir."

"Indeed…is that my turkey I smell cooking?" I sniffed the air, which was warm with the scent of the cooking bird.

"Y-your…turkey, sir?"

"Yes, I believe I gave your son some money to buy a big bird for your holiday feast. And I'm here to take it back, if so desired."

Arthur's face turned from terrified to confused. "Excuse me?"

I laughed, and Weasley took a hurried step back, struck dumb by the unusual sounds that were coming from me. Even to myself, the noise was foreign. "I'm here for dinner! Let me in, and with taking a bit of your bird, I'll give you a raise! How does that sound?"

"A raise, Professor Snape?"

"Scratch that, you're going to be my assistant professor." 

He was speechless, and his children, including Ginny, ran into the entry hall to see who had come to their door. 

"Are you telling the truth?" Arthur looked at me in amazement. 

I nodded, and the entire family, including Potter and Granger, broken into congratulatory smiles. 

  
  
  
I was better than my word. In the time that came Arthur received better wages than he had when he was with the Ministry, and became a respected assistant teacher throughout Hogwarts. Ginny did not die, and I helped find the disease which plagued her; she returned to a well enough state where she got her powers back and was able to return to Hogwarts once again. The students no longer hated me, but respected me. Although in speaking to me you might not notice a change, as I was reluctant to change my gruff tone that everyone had become so accustomed to over the years, the Ghosts had left a mark in my eyes. 

I never again did see the Ghosts, and the Bloody Baron, who had once been the House Ghost of Hogwarts, faded from all memory. Though I never saw Moaning Myrtle again, she was the first thing I thought of when I heard of a flood the girls' lavatories. Hagrid, however, never mentioned anything about it, and went about life in his most unknowing matter. Through one night, and one by one, the bitterness left by double service in my heart was erased from all knowledge, and as Ginny Weasley observed in a voice that was stronger than she had ever before possessed, "God bless us, everyone!"

~~~

Happy Christmas, everyone! 


End file.
